


The Continuity of Ducks

by asparagusmama



Series: The Dead of Winter pieces [5]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, The Dead of Winter, canon type mentions of child sexual abuse, many quotes, quotes, references to an Endeavour episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 09:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: Hathaway returns to work after his injury.Another post Dead of Winter angst piece :PFor flowerpotgirl's birthday.





	The Continuity of Ducks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowerpotgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerpotgirl/gifts).



It was Hathaway's first morning back. Innocent had sent him home, telling him she didn't want to see him until OT had cleared him following an assessment of his gunshot wound.

For two days he had sat at home, feeling sick with fear and guilt, waiting for Lewis' report to get to Innocent, telling her how he had compromised the case with his withholding information and his fraternising with Scarlett.

And that had been a mistake. A very big one.

Why did he think enough pretending and prayer would be enough to fix him from his disorder? It wasn't his fault. It was Mortmaigne.

“You're not one of us,” Scarlett had said. And how right she was. Paul was prepared to think himself part of the family rather than admit what had happened to him was wrong. And poor Briony, self harming and accepting she had no choice.

Like he did, he supposed. But that had been over 20 years ago. Surely things were different?

What was he doing, victim blaming?

DS James Hathaway flicked away his half-finished fag and walked across the car pack at the back of St Aldates Police Station and punched in the entry code. As he did so he heard some very loud ducks swim past on the Isis behind the car park.

_How fleeting are all human passions compared with the massive continuity of ducks._

James thought to himself, cheering himself up slightly.

He was on desk duty for at least two weeks, and dutifully waited outside Innocent's office while he waited for his return to work interview.

He hadn't seen Lewis since he had driven him home from Crevecoeur, although not for Lewis' ringing and texting and inviting himself over often enough. But after that first night, when he had poured out everything about his childhood, he needed to be alone. He had sworn Lewis to secrecy, but could he trust him?

Lewis had wanted to feed him, give him company, fetch his prescription pain relief, offer help with bathing and shaving, anything really. The kindness of a friend, Hathaway had no idea why it felt so cloying and suffocating and controlling. He knew it was anything but, and just meant as a kind act, and by no means as an act of diminishing him.

And sadly, also by no means an act of courtship and love.

Just a nice offer by a nice bloke. Because Robbie Lewis was a thoroughly decent human being. He had seen that on his first case with him, which was why he had asked to be his bagman.

Who was he kidding, he had probably already been in love with him.

He wasn't sure, as he was not the best at reading facial expressions and social niceties, but he felt officers were giving him odd looks today as he had dumped his coat in his locker, and got straight to Innocent's outer office. It was probably something to do with his being shot. It was a rare occurrence for a British police officer, despite the fiction and fan fiction he read. He read most and watched British detective series for a joke. But it passed the time, and being hyperlexic, he was always out for things to read to fill up his mind and squash his thoughts and memories.

He'd had more memories than he had ever wanted over the last week or so, ever since he had stood in front of his abuser and felt simultaneously a giant as he had towered over a frail old man who had once had so much power over him, had brain-washed him into thinking he wanted what was done to him, that he deserved it, that he tempted, that he was loved, that was how love was shown to special children, talented children, that that was how he returned the love and the trust given for access to piano and the library and the support to take scholarship exams, and a terrified, cowed, child that he used to be.

_Into the heart that kills_

_From far yon country blows_

_What are those blue remembered hills,_

_What spires, what farms are those?_

_That is the land of lost content,_

_I see it shining plain,_

_The happy highways where I went_

_And cannot come again._

And thank God for that. What content? What shone? The experiences in the Summerhouse?

Well, yes, the piano lessons, the discussions on poetry and literature and Greek myth. But at what cost?

Hathaway visibly shuddered as if he were in the Summerhouse as a child for a moment. He looked up and saw Innocent's PA look at him oddly.

“The Chief Superintendent won't be long now. Can I get you a glass of water Sergeant? Maybe you need some painkillers?”

Ah, good, let her think his arm and shoulder was hurting. He was still wearing a sling for at least a week.

Refusing Lewis' offer, he had had a old fashioned barber's shave yesterday evening, and being blond he hoped that would do for a couple of days. He might be able to coordinate himself after that. One-armed men shaved, there must be a knack to it he could figure out it while arm and shoulder were still stiff and uncooperative, he supposed. He had forgone a tie, he hoped Innocent would forgive him. He had tried, but it had been hilarious.

“Come in Hathaway.”

“Ma'am.”

He got up and followed her into her office.

“Occupational health have recommended two to three weeks light desk duty. I have your statement of the shooting on file. I was going to send you over to Laxton's team, we have so many photos and hints of on-going and historic child abuse that goes back decades, right back to the late sixties before the current Marquis took over from his father. Fascinating reading, the past cases too. Did you know there had been a tiger responsible for several deaths in the mid-sixties?”

“No Ma'am. I had no idea.”

“Really? A Philip Hathaway was an employee and witness.”

_Was he? Interesting. Drunk, afraid, hallucinating tigers,_

_Tyger Tyger, burning bright,_

_In the forests of the night;_

_What immortal hand or eye,_

_Could frame thy fearful symmetry?_

“ _Shut up James, you and your poncy poetry! It isn't funny. I saw a tiger, fucking terrifying, it ate people, it bloody ate people. Okay?!”_

_Seems his father wasn't an hallucinating drunken sot, but one drinking to quiet the PTSD flashbacks. Poor old Dad..._

“Yes, that is my father, but no, he never told me anything about that.”

_Might explain his being Estate Manager on no schooling, a hush-up promotion? What other secrets do the Mortmaignes hide?_

“Sorry, forgive my curiosity James. Now, I have decided to send you down to records, I'd like you to spend two weeks collating cold cases that modern DNA and forensics make worth reopening.”

“Ma'am.”

Hathaway couldn't object to that, sounded like a cushy few weeks, he loved research. And unlike if he'd been placed on Laxton's team, no people to make small talk with and feel awkward with. Hang on...

“Why did you decide not to put me with Laxton's team? From what Inspector Lewis said, the Summerhouse and the study provided a huge cache of potential victims?”

_Please no..._

Hathaway looked in horror as Innocent pulled out a brown A4 folder with a case name and number and evidence number on it. He supposed he had made her job easier, asking, and he shouldn't be surprised. She pushed it across the desk to him, and he span it around and opened it.

Dozens of pictures of a young, white blond, curly haired, little skinny boy with pale blue eyes looked up at him. Starting at aged five, and ending at twelve, where the skinny boy now had horrible glasses. Little James sat at the piano, playing, and little James straddled the piano stool naked, looking at the camera come hither...

“Excuse me Ma'am...” he tried to get up, but stumbled, awkward with one arm in a sling, and suddenly Innocent had her arm around his waist while she held the waste-paper basket in front of him while he deposited his breakfast and a great quantity of bile.

“Okay?” the Chief Super asked, rubbing his back in small circular motions, like winding a very large baby.

“Ma'am!” James stumbled out, horrified and embarrassed, “I can't apologise enough.”

“Oh, don't worry. I've seen enough vomit both in my uniform days and as a mother. Sit down. Shall I get you a glass of water. So, to clarify, that is you, then?”

Hathaway sat down and nodded numbly.

“And, as some of the photos indicate, the abuse was physical as well as sexual?”

“Oh, um, physical? In that he... sexually abused me, yes.”

“There is bruising clearly evident on some photos, which we haven't seen on the dozens of other children. And cigarette burns.”

Hathaway looked down, ashamed and wishing the floor could swallow him up. “That wasn't Mortmaigne, Ma'am.”

Innocent took a deep breath and removed her earrings, one by one, before buzzing her PA. “Sandra, can you bring in a jug of water and a glass, and make a sweet tea. Do we have a rich tea or digestive biscuit we can rustle up, do you think?”

_She's letting me compose myself._

“I spent a year bullied at school. And my father was a bit handy when drunk. Thanks to you, I am ready to believe he was suffering PTSD from the tiger incident you mentioned.”

“You can look up the report yourself in records, James. Now, how are you feeling?”

“What do you want of me, Ma'am?”

“It would be ridiculous to suggest therapy or that you can't cope with your job, as you've been coping admirably for years, and I have no idea, you may have already had counselling, that is your business. All I ask, as any other victim is being asked, are you happy to make a statement? He'll be in prison for the rest of his life due to Briony Grahame alone, but it would be nice to chase him for as much of the historic abuse as possible, to show that we can, to encourage other victims to come forward from other such historic crimes, and to give the victims a sense of justice. Wouldn't you like justice, James?”

_Before we loose the word_

_That binds new worlds to birth_

_Need must we must loose first the sword_

_Of justice upon the Earth:_

_Or all else is vain_

_Since life began on Earth,_

_And spent the world sinks back again_

_Hopeless of God and Men._

He had always trusted in God's justice, that Mortmaigne would burn for eternity, that his muddle and confusion and mistakes over sex and sexuality and all the harm he caused – oh God, Will and Feadorcha! - would be forgiven and placed on Mortmainge's shoulders...

That frail old man, a Marquis, a nonce lord in a British prison among all those professional criminals...

Hathaway smiled. God forgive him.

_How blessed are those who keep justice,_

_Who practice righteousness at all times._

“Will I have to give evidence?”

“It is very early in the investigation, but with a dozen or more victims, all with creditable statements which match a pattern and him already convicted, it seems unlikely.”

“Do I have to do it now Ma'am?”

“God no, Hathaway! This case must have been triggery for you, no wonder you took leave. It must have been hell for you. And you have an injury to recover from. When you feel ready, just contact DI Laxton.”

“Will do Ma'am.”

“Ah, here is Sandra with your water and tea. Sit here and take your time, then go see your grumpy boss – he's like a bear with a sore head worrying about your injury. Let him know you're fine, or tell him our conversation, up to you, then grab what you need and go down to records. You'll be fine here, I have a briefing meeting now with Grainger's team over that domestic last night. Honour killing, the Community Liason Officer suspects.”

“Ma'am,” Hathaway nodded as she left, standing to take the tray from Sandra, trying to ignore the look of pity in her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hathaway's quotes to himself in his internal dialogue are:
> 
> Lord Peter Wimsey's reflections in 'Gaudy Night' by Dorothy L Sayers  
> 'A Shropshire Lad' by A E Houseman  
> 'The Tyger' by William Blake  
> 'Justice' by Rudyard Kipling  
> Psalm 106:3
> 
> Not exactly what you asked for flowerpotgirl with your prompt, as I got carried away with an introduction, but you now have a choose your own birthday present:  
> Option one, as it stands  
> Option two, a second chapter that has you actual prompt  
> Option three, where a chapter with Hathaway and Lewis is in the middle of this piece and your prompt piece


End file.
